


Doubling Down

by LadyNorbert



Series: Twice Upon an Age [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Divine Leliana (Dragon Age), Dragon Age: Inquisition - Jaws of Hakkon DLC, Dragon Age: Inquisition - The Descent DLC, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, Gen, Multiple Inquisitors (Dragon Age), Multiple Wardens (Dragon Age), POV Multiple, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Skyhold (Dragon Age), The Forbidden Oasis, The Hissing Wastes, Varric Tethras Writes, Varric Tethras is my editor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23860789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNorbert/pseuds/LadyNorbert
Summary: Varric and "Scholar" continue telling the story of co-Inquisitors Mahanon Lavellan and Victoria Trevelyan, starting from just after the downfall of Corypheus and all the way through the events of the Exalted Council. Follow the Inquisition to the Hissing Wastes, the Forbidden Oasis, the Frostback Basin, the Deep Roads, and even Kirkwall! Adventure, romance, and editor's notes abound.
Relationships: Bethany Hawke/Varric Tethras, Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast, Male Lavellan/Cassandra Pentaghast
Series: Twice Upon an Age [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/618844
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	1. Prologue: Like the Leaves After a Long Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tk31085](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tk31085/gifts).



> I tried so many times to get back to this sooner, but my muses and brain weasels conspired against me. But here we are at last! I hope that fans of the Twiceverse have not been too impatiently waiting. This will be the final installment of the series, but you can probably expect it to be about as long as the first one, since we'll be covering all of the DLC as well as some stuff that's uniquely my own addition. Please remember to leave a contribution in the little box at the end! ;)

* * *

Being a continuation of the approximately true adventures of the Second Inquisition of Thedas,

which began in the year 9:41 Dragon

Adapted from the historical records by Lady Norbert, Chantry scholar

Edited for fun and profit by Varric Tethras, Viscount of Kirkwall in the Free Marches

Once again dedicated to our most devoted reader

(though we love all of them)

* * *

Relevant note for the sake of legal necessity:

Everything in this story is a work of fiction. The characters, settings, and events are the lawful property of BioWare, and are being borrowed just for fun. This is strictly a labor of love and no copyright infringement is intended. All rights are reserved.

The titles of each chapter are verses taken from the Chant of Light, the teachings of Our Lady, as this was deemed fitting for the recorded history of the Left and Right Hands of Andraste.

Varric is a mostly innocent bystander. Or so he claims.

* * *

**Prologue: Like the Leaves After a Long Winter**

* * *

[ _Editor’s note: Welcome back, everybody. I know it’s been a long time since anything was posted for this odd collection of stories, since Scholar had other things she needed to do. However, I finally got her to sit down long enough to put this together, as promised._

_The way I understand it, as this is being brought to the light of day, something pretty awful is going on in your world. And as you probably know, I firmly believe that there’s power in stories, especially when the days are dark. Stories bring us together. They chase some of the clouds away. They give us hope._

_And, after all, Hope is Victoria’s middle name._

_So here we are once more, heading back into the saga of Lord Inquisitor Lavellan and Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan, because Scholar and I really can’t find any better way to help in this situation. We can’t fix the mess you’re facing, but we can give you a story._

_If you somehow managed to stumble in here without having read the other parts of this series, I highly recommend you go and do that first. It’ll take a while, so make sure you get yourself a snack before you start. Depending on how fast you read, it could actually take a few days, so if you’re looking for a way to kill time this is a very good option. Even if you’re already one of our readers, you might want to reread the other stuff before you dive in here, as a refresher or just for fun. To use a common phrase, there are spoilers in this story for the others, so don’t say I didn’t warn you._

_In any case, we’re going to assume you know who all these people are. And I’m assuming you also know who I am. Just in case you don’t, I’m Varric Tethras – rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong, currently sitting in the most uncomfortable chair in Kirkwall wearing a pointy hat. My esteemed human colleague here is a woman I call Scholar. Together, we fight crime._

_No, wait, together we write history. Fighting crime is Aveline’s job._ ]

“All right, Scholar, ready to tackle this?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. I mean, where do we even start?”

“Most people like to start at the beginning,” Varric replied. “Me, I’m a fan of sometimes starting in the middle. Occasionally you might even start at the end and work backwards.”

She gave him a bemused look. “That sounds like something my husband would say.”

“Smart man. Anyway, I suppose what you want to do is employ a bit of a time skip,” he continued, settling in his chair and studying the pile of notes. “See, for the first couple of weeks after Corypheus was defeated, nobody did very much of anything, and that’s really hard to translate to a story.”

“I don’t follow.”

“We all took a massive nap.” He chuckled. “Well, not all of us. Morrigan and her kid packed up the eluvian and headed out for parts unknown. We know they reunited with the Heroes of Ferelden – Nightingale got a short note from the Queen which mentioned it, that’s how we were able to include that sweet little scene in the first story.”

“Right. But the rest?”

“The Iron Lady was gone about a week later, as I mentioned. Headed back to her spot as court mage to the Empress. We got a letter from her now and then, or rather the Inquisitors did. Everyone else stuck around, except Solas of course, and like I said, we did a lot of resting.”

“Which you deserved, I’m sure. But then what?”

“Well, the bosses got a little restless, I guess. We started getting reports about some Venatori crap happening in the Hissing Wastes, which are really far to the west in Orlais, and there was that business with all the shards opening up the temple in the Forbidden Oasis. There was no way Hunter was going to ignore that.” Varric shook his head. “He still has the voices in his head talking at him, you know. I think it drives Eyebrows a bit spare. To answer the question I think you’re really asking, the Hissing Wastes came first.”

She nodded and started writing.


	2. Where In Days Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang sets off to investigate the Hissing Wastes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of the dialogue in this chapter was taken from the actual Tomb of Fairel quest. Not all of it, of course, but quite a bit - what can I say? They're good lines, let's keep them.

* * *

**Chapter One: Where In Days Forgotten**

* * *

“Well, Seeker,” said Varric, seeing Cassandra enter the great hall of Skyhold’s keep, “ready for the next adventure?”

“It is the main reason I have not yet left,” she replied. “I want to get back to my mission to find the surviving Seekers – but purging the remaining Venatori must take priority. Even without their foul master giving them directives, whatever they are doing cannot be allowed to stand.”

[ _Editor’s note: Yeah, she really talks that way sometimes. She reads too many books. I know, I’ve written some of them._ ]

“Think you'll ever go back to Nevarra?”

“Why?” she retorted. “Are you eager to see me go?”

"I wasn't, actually, but now that you mention it..." Varric smirked.

To his surprise, she smirked right back. “How do you know I wouldn't just drag you along?”

“Be still my heart! I've grown on you!”

“Like fungus.” She smiled faintly, however. “But I suppose that if I dragged you along, I would also have to drag Bethany, and that seems unfair to her. Though I admit I would have expected you to return to Kirkwall at the first opportunity.”

“I have orders from Hawke to do something like that,” he admitted. “She wants her little sister at home where it’s presumably safe. But Sunshine came here and saved me the trouble of having to go to Starkhaven to collect her, so I don’t need to rush. Besides, if I don’t follow the Inquisitors into whatever mess they’re going to find next, I’ll never get all the details just right for the book.”

“So then there _will_ be a book?” Her face betrayed more interest than she probably wanted.

“If my editor doesn’t get sick of hearing from me, and the publisher finally pays up for the Orlesian royalties I was cheated out of getting, and assuming I don’t get killed before I can finish it, yes.”

“Then I suppose I had better also stay with the Inquisition and ensure that you do not get killed. What about the Orlesian story, the one with Vivienne as your duchess?”

“Still plugging away, but it’s coming along nicely, I think. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get an advance copy in return for making sure I live to tell the next tale.”

Varric chuckled to himself as she wandered off – probably in search of Mahanon. It would be difficult to say that he and Cassandra were fond of each other, or anything like it. (Dorian had received an earful the day he had wondered if the bickering indicated a hidden attraction on either or both sides. Andraste’s ass, what a ridiculous idea.) But the animosity between them over Hawke had cooled, and while he wouldn’t necessarily describe her as a close friend, she was… well, he wasn’t sure he knew a word, really.

“Hey, there’s my proofreader,” he said, glancing up as he heard Bethany approaching his table. “Just who I needed. You don’t by any chance know a word for someone who is not _quite_ a friend but is something close to it?”

“I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it,” she replied, flicking her fingers in the direction of the hearth. A log obligingly lifted itself into the air and settled onto the fire. “Which story needs this?”

“Oh, none of them yet. I was actually trying to think of a way to describe my relationship with Cassandra that doesn’t involve the words _kidnapping_ or _interrogation_.”

“How very generous of you.” She laughed, sitting down. “Well, ask Dorian, or Mahanon. Maybe there’s a word in Tevene or Elvhen that would work. Or Bull – the Qunari language seems to have the most interesting ways of putting things, like their word for getting clothes tangled on their horns.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it, Sunshine,” he replied. “Have you ever heard him say… wait, let me see if I can say it right… _Taarsidath-an haslaam_?” He was butchering the pronunciation, he knew.

“I can’t say I have.” Her brow furrowed, topaz eyes puzzled. “Why?”

“Honestly, it might be better if I don’t tell you.”

“You can’t do that,” she protested. “Now I’ll have to go and ask him myself.”

“No, don’t,” he said hastily. “It’s something he said when we were fighting a dragon once. Apparently – assuming that he wasn’t making the world’s weirdest joke about it – it means… well, let’s just say he’s probably directed it at Dorian at least once.”

“Ohh.” Bethany paused. “And he said it while _fighting a dragon_?”

“Sunshine. Think about who we’re talking about here.”

“…point taken. But yes, maybe he’ll know a word for you.”

“Meanwhile, you coming along for the slog through the Hissing Wastes?” he asked, spreading out story notes so they could review them. “I understand our marching orders are to leave the day after tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t miss it. You’ve already made me skip half of the interesting things which have happened since I arrived.” It was said without malice, and Varric chuckled.

“And with good reason. Imagine how your sister would react if I had to tell her you were with us when some of that shit went down. I think she half expected you to chase her down in the Anderfels.” He shook his head. “Hawke would rather we stay away, stay safe. That won’t fly forever.”

“No, it won’t. But I can’t go with her, so I’m going with you.”

“All right. In that case, we’d better get some work done before we leave. Now, about Lady Elizabeth… should there be an actual torrid affair with Ser Athras, or should it just be the subject of scurrilous rumors at court?”

“Well, which would annoy the duchess more?” Bethany returned pertly. “And which would the readers appreciate more?”

“Actual torrid affair it is. You’ll forgive me if I gloss over some of the details, though.”

[ _Editor’s note: Scholar, you’re having too much fun with this. But it’s good to be back._ ]

* * *

It took close to a week for the adventuring party to reach the Hissing Wastes, by which time Scout Harding had once again established a forward camp for them and was waiting eagerly to give the Inquisitors her report. But apart from the Venatori being present and – Varric could scarcely believe his ears – digging up dwarven ruins _on the surface_ , the Wastes didn’t have a whole lot for them to do or even see. He had to acknowledge the presence of what looked like a dwarven statue in the distance, but the nature of the desert made it impossible to judge how far it actually was.

The Venatori had slaves with them, though. If they did nothing else, they had to rescue the people from the cages. Cole was very insistent on that, Victoria not much less so.

“I did the best I could to chart the area, Your Worships,” Harding said, “but this space has nothing but... space. But I saw some Red Templars heading northwest of here, they might be a good start. I found this map on a dead one. Maybe it shows where they’re headed.”

“Excellent work as usual, Harding,” said Eyebrows in her pleasant way. “Are you remaining in the area?”

“I would – I have to admit that I’m curious about those dwarven ruins.” Harding was, of course, a dwarf. And as much as he himself usually eschewed ‘dwarfy shit,’ even Varric had to admit he shared her curiosity on the matter. “But I’ve got to head back east. Lady Montilyet received communication from the University of Orlais that they’re sending a research team into the Frostback Basin, and she’d like me to lead the scouts she’s sending to accompany them. They’re apparently doing some research related to the history of the Inquisition, so of course she’s taken an interest.”

“That makes sense,” said Mahanon. “Well, be sure to tell Josephine to send for us if we’re needed. We’ll come back to Skyhold as soon as we’re able.” He shaded his eyes and peered across the shifting sands. “ _Dareth shiral_ , Harding.” Eyebrows gave him a look, and he hastily clarified, “Safe journey.”

“Oh. Uh, thank you, Your Worship. You all be safe too.”

Victoria shook her head, but smiled. “All right, everyone, we’ve had a long trip. Let’s get settled and try to get out of this heat.”

“I almost want to say enjoy it while it lasts,” said Blackwall. “Come nightfall, this place will be freezing.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s not like the Western Approach,” he explained, “where the canyon walls gave shade in the day and blocked the wind at night. We’re going to be feeling that wind as it blows across the sand – might be why it’s called the Hissing Wastes, as far as that goes – and it’s going to have a bite to it. But the heat’s so hot that we might want to do our exploring at night.”

“We’ll have to consider that,” she mused, nodding. Varric couldn’t help thinking that it was the most he’d heard Hero say at one time since they found out he wasn’t really a Grey Warden. “For now, let’s see about getting the mounts to a safe resting place where they’ll be out of the sun, and have something to eat. I want to take a look at this map Harding found before we try going anywhere.”

* * *

They spent the remainder of the daylight hours tending their mounts, studying the map, and speaking with the scouts about what they’d personally witnessed. There were rifts to seal, because of course there were, and more of those horrid skulls mounted on poles which meant the presence of shards for that Forbidden Oasis place. As usual, Varric found himself filled with a vague but pressing sensation of _I want to go home_.

They decided to follow Blackwall’s suggestion of traversing the desert by night, which gave them an admittedly gorgeous view of one of the moons, and also kept them from broiling alive inside their armor. This additionally gave them the element of surprise when attacking Venatori, whose angry commentary (before bleeding out) seemed to indicate that they hadn’t gotten the memo that their boss was dead.

“I almost feel sorry for them, you know,” said Dorian flatly after one battle. “Almost. Poor useless bastards, sent to do menial labor at the end of the world and not even kept up to date on how pointless their efforts are.”

The map led them to a tomb, of all things – and, as Harding had intimated, it was clearly dwarven in design. Varric groaned inwardly at the sight of it. “I’m going to have to send another letter to the Shaperate,” he remarked quietly to Bethany. “The poor bastards probably drink heavily every time they see the seal of House Tethras.”

“Is that your way of telling me you need the ring back?” she retorted.

“Only for purposes of sending mail. You want to keep wearing it the rest of the time, I’m not going to be the one to tell you no.”

“Look on the bright side, Varric.”

“That’s your wheelhouse, Sunshine. Which bright side are we examining?”

“Well… we’re not likely to get bored out here.”

“All right, I’ll give you that one,” he conceded, amused. Resuming a more normal speaking volume, he asked, “So how do we get into this thing?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Victoria reported from where she and Mahanon were studying some pillars. They had some engravings carved on them, and some veilfire sconces mounted to their opposite sides. “There are four of these, and they seem to have a poem of sorts written on them.”

“Well, I’m maybe a half-pint more interested than I was a few minutes ago,” said the writer. “Let’s have a look at this.”

[ _Editor’s note: A half-pint, Scholar? Really?_ ]

Of course, they initially did the whole thing wrong, and lit the sconces in the incorrect order. Dispatching the shades spawned by the mistake wasn’t too hard, but it was – in Lady Inquisitor’s words – a little embarrassing. “I think we have to put the whole thing in the right order,” she said, “and then light the sconces accordingly.”

“They were dwarves,” said Cole, sounding thoughtful and just a touch sad. “They think they still are. They sound like dust tastes.”

Bull grumbled. “Demon arseholes. All right, Lady Boss, let’s try it your way. Varric, this is what you do, you figure out what the poem says.”

“Let me get some paper so I can write down the options.”

* * *

[ _Editor’s note: Okay, is it just me or is this managing to be even more boring than I remember?_ _Yes, I know, I’m wrecking the narrative flow here, but Andraste’s ass, this part of the story doesn’t tell very well. Let’s try to condense a little so we can get back to parts of civilization that don’t involve sand in our smallclothes. It’s rough and coarse and irritating._]

There were, all in all, _five_ tombs they had to enter and explore. It was, Varric though, kind of repetitious. They solved the poem of the first one, entered, and found a few treasures as well as a stone sarcophagus. Among the treasures were a fragment of what might want to be a key when it grew up, and a map which led to a different part of the Hissing Wastes.

The major problem with the Hissing Wastes was how vast it was, and how far they had to travel to get to the next tomb. But at least they weren’t boring trips, what with rifts to seal and Venatori to kill, plus a few more stone carvings to send back to add to the Skyhold décor and a handful more of those obnoxious shards that allegedly had something to do with a hidden temple in the west. Varric could hardly wait until they went to deal with that nonsense. Of more immediate concern were the slaves who were locked inside cages on wheels, just like they had been in the mines in Sahrnia; at least being able to release them from captivity meant that the Inquisitors and friends weren’t wasting their time here.

The map sent them to another tomb, with another poem-sconce-puzzle, and another sarcophagus and treasure chest with another map and key fragment. This sent them to a third, which sent them to a fourth, and thence to a fifth. “I think this might be the final one,” said Mahanon. “And it’s nearly sunrise. We may as well stay here until nightfall – there’s no way we could reach one of our camps before it gets too hot to endure.” He looked at the sarcophagus thoughtfully. “ _Bellanaris an atish’an._ ”

“Nonny.” Victoria sounded resigned; this happened a lot, Varric suspected, when no one else was around to hear it.

“Sorry. I was telling the dead that I hope their eternity is peaceful.”

“That’s very thoughtful.” She smiled and shook her head. “Let’s stay out here in the other chamber so we’re not disturbing their rest any more than necessary. Dorian, do you think you can put together some rations before we all take turns at sleeping?”

“I imagine I can manage it. Do you suppose we might be able to go back to that merchant at some point?” he asked, rooting around in their packs. “The one in the canyon, you know. He had a rather remarkable hat that I was considering.”

“You mean the dog?” Bull chuckled. “What was its name – Betyar?”

“Well, I don’t imagine the dog is _really_ in charge. But yes.”

While Blackwall played with the five key fragments and tried to turn them into something that would actually serve a purpose, Varric spread his papers on the floor in order to read the poem in full. With all of the stanzas collected and placed in their proper order, he could finally understand what the ancient carver had been trying to say.

> _Fairel, Paragon, fled from the strife his brilliance created,_
> 
> _The strife that destroyed thaigs, sundered houses, from weapons that clan used against clan._
> 
> _His own clan and his two sons followed Fairel to the pitiless surface,_
> 
> _The surface where they would hide from the war that took their home._
> 
> _The sun burned above oceans of sand,_
> 
> _but in the sand was Stone, strong and true._
> 
> _Fairel hewed the Stone, and built──as great as any thaig in the deep._
> 
> _And with his sons' help, he ensured the thaig prospered and grew._
> 
> _After many years Fairel, greatest of Paragons, could not bear life's burden._
> 
> _And with the burden growing, he called his sons to his bedside._
> 
> _He bade each son swear he would take care of his brother,_
> 
> _and the brothers swore, and mourned when their father returned to the Stone._
> 
> _Fairel's sons built monuments to their father, locking away his great works,_
> 
> _and worked together, for a time, side by side. Each ruled half the thaig,_
> 
> _but each ruled differently. They argued, and heated words made the brothers duel,_
> 
> _And where one brother fell, the others raised bloodied axe in hand, alone._
> 
> _This is the tale of Fairel, Paragon among Paragons, father of two sons,_
> 
> _who, against their father's wishes, fought from foolish words and foolish pride._
> 
> _For pride these halls were made -- to honor a father's deeds, and grieve his loss._
> 
> _And for loss these halls were made, to honor a brother mourned._

“The Shaperate is going to have a fit,” he decided.

“Not much of a poem, is it?” asked Bethany, reading over his shoulder. “It doesn’t even rhyme in most places. But why is the Shaperate going to be upset?”

“Have you been reading all these inscriptions?” The question was directed not just at Bethany, but also at Victoria and Mahanon, who came to join them. “These dwarves built a colony on the surface. On purpose.”

“That’s practically unheard of in recorded history,” said Eyebrows.

“Exactly! ‘Real’ dwarves don’t like the surface. ‘Real’ dwarves say leaving the Stone is death.” Varric shook his head. “Fairel apparently didn’t give two tin shits about tradition.”

“Two tin shits, Varric?” Sunshine sounded incredulous.

“Eh, all this history has me eloquented out. Point is, these ruins were dedicated to a Paragon.”

“What do you mean?” This was Hunter’s question, as Cassandra moved to sit beside him.

“It’s hard to explain,” Varric hedged. “Paragons don’t sound impressive on paper. Let’s say you invented a new hat or table saw, so what? But when they come through, they’re like an avalanche. Even surface dwarves get dewy-eyed when we talk about them - not me, of course, but others.”

“Each noble house is descended from a Paragon, isn’t that what you told us back in Valammar?” Bethany looked thoughtful. “Yours was originally House Garen.”

“Yeah. Dwarves wait entire generations for a Paragon to be born.” He shook his head, which was starting to ache a bit. “This entire conversation is making me think about dwarf shit.”

“Are you all right, Varric?” asked Victoria.

“I’m fine, Eyebrows. You know, I don’t buy that stuff about dwarven ancestors living on in the Stone, and we’re above ground anyway. But just between ourselves, something about this place gives me the creeps.”

“Are you serious?” Cassandra blurted. “Here, of all the places we’ve been?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t say it made sense. Just that I’d like to leave and never look back.”

“Well, we’ve got one last map,” said Victoria, “and with how big the Wastes are, I suspect it’s going to take us some time to get to whatever it’s supposed to help us find. Then we’ll find out just what it was that the Venatori wanted.”

“Why _are_ the Venatori the first ones out here?” This came from Bull, who was uncurling bedrolls in a corner.

“I presume Corypheus put them on the scent.”

“Not what I mean. Have you been looking at these buildings? Why isn’t Orlais or Ferelden sending scholars to learn how to make a building last a thousand years? This is real engineering, none of this ‘we’ll get a mage to lift that block’ crap Tevinter does.”

“Well, pardon us.” Dorian sounded more amused than affronted, however.

“Seriously, look at this place. Know why it lasted so long? Siege mentality.” Bull thumped the stone with one fist. “It may be above ground, but the old dwarves built this city like a mountain might fall on it.”

“When did you study architecture?” Mahanon chuckled.

“Eh, you learn a few things about walls after knocking enough of them down. Think about what’s missing in these tombs, though.”

“...I don’t know, what?”

“I’ve got a theory,” he replied. “Let’s wait until we get to the final map’s destination, though, and we’ll see if I’m right.”

[ _Editor’s note: As the man said, you’ll have to wait and see. But it’s entirely possible you can guess._ ]


	3. All This Is Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the Hissing Wastes. More sand.

* * *

**Chapter Two: All This Is Yours**

* * *

“Years ago,” said Blackwall, “I was hired to find a man who’d gone missing in the Silent Plains.”

It was midday, as near as Victoria could tell from the light beyond the door, and she and Blackwall were sharing a turn at watch. “Is that much like the Hissing Wastes?” she inquired, voice low so as not to disturb her sleeping friends.

He nodded. “It’s pure dust out there, fine as ash. A breeze can choke you for days. But I was with stout men, like Wilfred. Wet behind the ears, but Maker, he was eager to prove himself.” He gave a sigh. “The sooner we’re gone from this place, the better.”

“Did something happen?”

“We made camp.” He shifted, resting his back more securely against a tomb wall. “Said we’d have stories once we got back home. Then the storm blew in. We dug in, expecting sand, but what we got was rain. Never seen anything like it - we climbed some rocks, but it was days until the waters went down.”

“Probably not a concern we’ll encounter here,” she mused. “At least, I hope not.”

“I hope not too. We lost our supplies in the flood,” he recalled. “For a while I thought we’d end up starving - or bashing in Wilfred’s head for a stew. But he found some berries growing on top of the rocks we were stranded on, and it was that or nothing.”

Victoria winced. “I have a feeling this isn’t going anywhere good.”

“Little purple berries. An hour later, we both started screaming.”

“Poison?”

He shook his head. “Hallucinogenic. I was convinced a ring of nugs was singing sea shanties to us for two nights running.”

She stifled a laugh. “You’re teasing me.”

“Not at all, Ladyship, I haven’t even told you the worst of it.” She wasn’t sure if he was smiling or not. “We woke up three days later with no armor. Surrounded by hungry ghasts. Stole our weapons and armor and tried to drag us off to some dank pit.”

“How did you escape?”

“You’d be surprised what a man armed with a rock and a headache can do.”

“I’ll have to remember that.” Fighting down the laugh was difficult.

“I think you’re the first person I’ve told that story in a good five years,” Blackwall mused, after a few minutes of silence. “Maybe I’ll tell it to Varric. He can use it in a book somewhere.”

[ _Editor’s note: He did, too. I got a few details that Eyebrows didn’t, mostly about how he got past his memories of the desert – not the sort of thing you tell a lady, but a dwarf with a quill is fair game. Haven’t worked out a story where I can use it yet, though._ ]

Victoria smiled and shook her head, glancing around at their sleeping companions. Mahanon was snuggled against Cassandra, his arms wrapped around her waist; Sera was curled up nearby in a little blonde ball of plaideweave. Dorian had his head on Bull’s massive shoulder, somehow blissfully oblivious to the Qunari’s snores. Cole, of course, never slept – he didn’t need it – but he was also not in evidence at the moment. “I wonder where he’s gone,” she murmured, half to herself.

“Who, Cole?” Blackwall shrugged. “Maybe he popped back over to our camp, check on the rescued slaves or something.”

“That seems likely. He does prefer to be where he can help the most, and there isn’t a vast deal he can do for us just now. There’s… not much hurt to heal, in this room, is there?”

“No, I don’t imagine there is. Not just now, at least.”

* * *

Cole returned, briefly, to report that the slaves were being fed and given warm blankets. “Would you do me a favor, Cole?” Victoria asked. “Could you stay in the camp with them while we finish up this investigation? That way if they have any trouble, you can let us know right away, and if you can heal some of their hurts you’ll be there.”

“I want to help.” He nodded. “Caged, curtailed, crushed under their condition. The free air smells strange. Nothing is as they knew it. They will need time to adjust. I can help.”

After the sun went down, and they were on their way across the desert once again, something happened which none of them could have anticipated. Even Varric, Victoria thought, would have been stretching to include something of this sort in one of his stories.

“Am I hallucinating?” Bethany asked in thorough bewilderment. “I could swear I see a Chantry sister over there.”

“If you’re hallucinating, I am as well,” replied Cassandra, equally baffled. “Perhaps she is lost?”

“Considering the nearest Chantry is miles from here, Seeker, I’d say that she’s giving new definition to the word _lost_ ,” Varric retorted. “Let’s see if she needs some water, at least.”

They approached the figure warily, not completely sure whether to trust their own senses. “Hello?” Victoria ventured, once they were near enough to be heard. “Are you all right, Sister? Can we help at all?”

She turned toward them with an expression the Lady Inquisitor couldn’t identify, but one which made her feel six shades of uncomfortable. There was something about it that felt… off. “Rest at the Maker’s right hand, and be forgiven.” She spoke with a heavy Orlesian accent, and dropped to one knee, ostensibly as if to pray but seemingly more interested in drawing shapes in the sand with one finger.

“Um… how are you here?” asked Mahanon. “Are you following us?”

“The nations that deny the Maker are as a child that denies a mother.”

“That’s rather condescending for someone going about spewing proverbs,” Dorian retorted.

“You have found we,” said the Sister, still in that peculiar tone. She got to her feet. “Take this gift. Do not falter. In the absence of light, the shadows thrive.” Quite unexpectedly, she dissolved into pieces, greenish dust blowing in the wind. On the spot where she had stood sat a small pile of gold and a finely-wrought bow.

“…the fuck?” This was from Bull, and honestly, Victoria couldn’t blame him for the response.

“Right, can I call dibs on the bow?” asked Sera.

“Sure, I don’t see why not.” Mahanon passed it to her. “Anybody have any idea what the heck just happened?”

“I don’t know, and I feel like even if I did know, I wouldn’t want to know,” said Blackwall.

Victoria shook her head. The skirtlike cape of her ‘battledress’ whipped around her legs as a sharp wind kicked up. “We need to keep moving,” she said, “and try to make some headway across the desert. I think I can see some big statues in the distance – if we can make it as far as those before daybreak, we can use them for shade.”

“Varric, you’re the one who will be telling this story,” said Dorian, as they began making their way east once more. “Can’t you employ some kind of clever time skip to bring us to where we need to be?”

“That’s a lot less effective than you might think, Sparkler. Works great when the reader wants to skip ahead – not so well when you’re doing the stuff that goes into the chapter.”

“Perhaps we should start researching a new kind of magic, Bethany. A new specialization – ‘storyspeller.’ Able to cast spells which speed up the plot.”

Bethany laughed. “It sounds like it could be a very useful specialization for those of us who travel with writers. But I’ll admit that I’ve never invented an entirely new school of magic, I’m not sure where to begin.”

“Remind me to look into it when we get back to Skyhold,” Dorian replied, smoothing his mustache. “I’m sure between the two of us, we can come up with some interesting theories.”

[ _Editor’s note: I’m still waiting for this. I think they actually do work on it from time to time._ ]

* * *

They hunkered in the shadow of the giant statue of a dwarf raising a hammer above his head. It was very much like the similar statues in Apostate’s Landing on the Storm Coast, where surface dwarves had once operated a thriving trading post on the Waking Sea.

“I spy with my little eye,” said Bull, as they waited for the sun to go down, “something that starts with S.”

“Is it the statue?” Sera yawned.

“Nope.”

“Bull, if you tell us the answer is _sand_ , I may have to hurt you,” said Mahanon mildly.

“Would I do that to you?” There was a pause. “Okay, yeah, I would.”

“In the interest of having you not be hurt, then,” said Victoria, amused, “let’s pretend that you were going to say the answer is Sera.”

“Works for me. Anyone else want to take a turn?”

They continued in this vein until nightfall, when they resumed their press across the desert. The map guided them east past sand, sand, rocks, sand, a randomly placed lantern, rocks, and sand.

[ _Editor’s note: You forgot the sand._ ]

Finally, they reached another pair of statues, keeping silent watch on either side of an opening in the rock. “Anybody else notice that ‘giant dwarves’ is an oxymoron?” Bull commented, squinting up at the figures.

“I figure it’s some kind of compensation,” said Varric. “Like magic. We’re a completely non-magical race, but we do an awful lot with it anyway. Can’t sling spells or shoot lightning from our fingers, so here, have a rune that sets your sword on fire.”

“Compensation.” Sera snickered. “Like men with big swords.”

“It’s not a sword, it’s a counterweight,” Blackwall told her. Cassandra rolled her eyes and made an ‘ugh’ noise.

“All right, everyone, if you please,” said Victoria evenly. “Let’s keep our eyes open and our wits about us. We don’t know what we’re about to find in this canyon, or whatever we’re entering here.”

Canyon was as good a word for it as any, she supposed, as they crept into its depths. It was an almost round area, perhaps deliberately carved out of the rock by the same dwarves who had built the statues which guarded its entrance. On its far side they could make out what looked like it might be a door, which probably required the key they had assembled.

She was reasonably certain, however, that the dwarves had not been responsible for the dragon which was fast asleep in the center of the canyon.

“Look at that!” Bull hissed. It was like he was trying to whisper and scream at the same time, with mixed results. “Ohh, that is a beauty. Boss – Lady Boss – can we? Please?”

“Haven’t you killed enough dragons for one year?” Dorian asked, baffled.

“No such thing, _kadan_.”

“No, let’s just leave her be,” said Mahanon, thoughtfully. “It’s not like there’s anyone out here she can hurt, really. With the Venatori dead, once our people pull out and take the rescued slaves back to Skyhold, she can have the whole desert to herself. I doubt she can even find a mate to help her lay eggs, so the only ones who might object are the gurns and wyverns.”

“You mean you think we’re going to just sneak past a sleeping dragon?” asked Varric, incredulously.

“It’s not the most unlikely thing we’ve ever done,” said Victoria. “I would venture to say it’s not even the most unlikely thing we’ve done this week.”

“That’s probably true, Eyebrows.”

“Just make sure you mention her when you write to the Shaperate, so that if King Bhelen wants to send scouts, they’re prepared,” she added. “Come on, everybody – be as quiet as you possibly can.”

Sneaking in the desert wasn’t exactly an easy task, but the wind helped; although it was not nearly as strong in the canyon as it was outside, it was still fairly noisy as it skimmed over the rocks which formed the border. This helped to muffle their steps, and the dragon – clearly used to that noise – didn’t wake. She did once lift the tip of her tail and bash it lightly on the ground, evidently twitching in a dream, and Bull gave a great sigh that might be described as somewhere between lustful and bloodthirsty. Everyone else just sort of looked at him for a moment.

“…what?”

* * *

Once on the far side of the canyon, while Bull and Blackwall kept their gaze trained on the dragon and their weapons in hand, Mahanon used the great key to unlock the ancient door. A rush of stale air greeted them as the door was opened for the first time in a thousand years. “Much easier than reciting questionable poetry,” said Dorian. “Well, Bull, what about that theory you mentioned? Does it hold?”

“Seems like it does,” he said, poking his large head through the door and scanning the interior.

“You said earlier that something appeared to be missing from these tombs,” said Victoria. “What is it?”

“Pits,” he replied. “Arrow traps. Anything to stop us besides a door. They thought the guy buried here was so important, no one would ever think of robbing him. It’s downright Qunari.”

“They thought no one would think to rob him, or they thought nobody would go to the trouble,” Cassandra replied dryly.

“Considering what we had to go through to get here, I’d say they’re equally likely theories,” Dorian mused. “Whoever constructed these tombs – the surviving son, I presume – must have thought it improbable that anyone would ever try.”

“Well, I’m assuming this is the tomb of Fairel,” said Varric with a sigh. “You ask the Shaperate, Fairel and his entire house were lost in the Deep Roads somewhere around the Divine Age or a little before that. A lot of the dwarven houses were given to infighting at the time, and he was a Paragon, and he just wanted out. So he rounded up all his people and headed for the surface, but as far as dwarven records know, they never got here. Obviously that wasn’t the case. Your guess is as good as mine as to what happened to the colony after he died and one of his sons killed the other, but I assume they either died out or some of them managed to get back underground. Maybe they made it to Kal-Sharok or something, I don’t know. These tombs, for whatever reason, are pretty much all that’s left.”

There were, of course, a few treasures to take from the chest entombed with Fairel’s sarcophagus. Victoria was surprised at the scroll, which was still so carefully preserved after so much time had passed, and she unrolled it curiously. “It’s a schematic,” she said, peering at it. “I’ve never seen a rune like this before. Is this what the Venatori were after?”

Varric sighed again. “You’re holding the legacy of a Paragon,” he said. “Empires used to kill for them – heck, they still do. Whatever it does, it’s probably ancient and invaluable. So try not to drop it in the sand.”

“Your confidence in my abilities is overwhelming,” she retorted. “Also, your information about all of this is astounding. I thought you didn’t like talking about dwarf stuff.”

He shrugged. “You want an encyclopedia entry, it may as well be from someone charming.”

“May I see it?” asked Bethany, indicating the schematic. Victoria passed it to her and she studied it in the glow of her staff. “I can’t read ancient dwarven script, of course, but this looks powerful. Do you suppose Dagna can make sense of the old writing?”

“Probably our best bet,” Mahanon agreed. “Let’s get it back to camp and we can send it ahead to Skyhold with one of the birds. Then we can arrange for our camps to shut down and vacate the desert. I don’t know how our people have avoided the dragon’s notice this long, but I want them all out of here before it catches wise.” His gaze slid into something unfocused. “Yes, of course,” he remarked absently, in a way that seemed to indicate he wasn’t talking to them. “ _Falon’Din enasal enaste._ ”

“Oy, weirdy,” said Sera, “quit being so frigging elfy. If you’re going to talk, talk what we can all understand.”

“Apologies.” He gave himself a little shake. “Just a prayer for the dead, nothing more. The voices from the Well suggested that it would be appropriate to offer it for Fairel.”

“Very friendly, Boss,” said Bull. “But if you really want that dragon to live to see the sunrise, I suggest we haul ass and get out of this canyon before she wakes up and wants a midnight snack.”


End file.
